


Now advance they to the crime scene

by merripestin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, kennings, verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 19:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1277932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merripestin/pseuds/merripestin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hwaet! I sing of those immortal heroes: The Tall Detective and The Shorter Man.</p><p>Now tall Sherlock, called the genius,       sees the parsley in the butter,<br/>cries <i>Oh!</i> and soon declares the answer.       He knows the killer, has deduced it;<br/>and John Watson, called the doctor,        whose gun is sure, whose hands are steady,<br/>cries to him in admiration,       hails him <i>Brilliant</i> and <i>Fantastic.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Now advance they to the crime scene

Now advance they to the crime scene,       Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.  
Brilliant Sherlock, called the genius,       tall detective, wise consultant  
—Scotland Yard calls Holmes for aid!—       and beside him, John, the fair-haired,  
called the doctor, called the soldier,       John, who wields his gun sure-handed,  
these the men who solve the cases;       in Baker Street they make their home.

Lestrade, Detective Chief Inspector       — _Greg_ , some call him, others _Gavin_ —  
crime in London his division,       has called them hither and they come.  
Sally, loyal sergeant, meets them,       brings them to Lestrade, her guvnor.  
Clever Sally, hard as steel,       wise Lestrade, the silver fox,  
these two keep order in the city       but now Sherlock Holmes is needed.

Here the body, here the weapon,       here the locked and bolted door,  
all of this Lestrade now shows them       and he cries his sad confusion  
begs the clever man to help him.       Dark-haired Sherlock, tall detective  
—his coat from Belstaff sweeps behind him!—       only he can solve the murder.  
Sherlock Holmes begins his working,       gives the case his swift attention,  
the clues bare to his piercing gaze,       his eyes of strange and varied colors.

Now tall Sherlock, called the genius,       sees the parsley in the butter,  
cries _Oh!_ and soon declares the answer;       he knows the killer, has deduced it;  
and John Watson, called the doctor,       whose gun is sure, whose hands are steady,  
cries to him in admiration,       hails him _Brilliant_ and _Fantastic_.

John will post his praise tomorrow,       John the blogger, fair-haired Watson,  
faithful John, less tall than Sherlock       whose two fingers, sure and steady,  
press the keyboard —slow, hard labor!—       but that will happen on the morrow.

Now tall Sherlock, Mycroft's brother       (dark-haired, his eyes are many colors),  
turns away and bids John follow;       he has a lead, the game is on!  
Swift their running in the alleys,       swift their racing down the streets,  
they run through London, greatest city       through bright lights and many shadows.

Fair-haired John, the shorter man,       runs behind, will always follow,  
sees Sherlock's coat flash round the corner,       curses Sherlock's mad impatience,  
fears his friend will find the killer       with John not at his side to save him.

John's sure hand goes to his waist-band       —gun-wielding John, the fair-haired soldier—  
he draws his weapon, turns the corner.       There Sherlock stands, the tall detective,  
dark-haired Sherlock, called the genius;       a knife is at his ivory throat.

John steps forward, calls a warning,       faithful Watson, Harry's brother,  
the knife-man looks but does not fear       fair-haired John, less tall than Sherlock.  
But not for him was warning given;       dark-haired Sherlock, wise detective,  
puts trust in his faithful blogger       and stills himself against the brickwork.

Swiftly flies the brutal bullet       from the gun of John, sure-handed,  
the knife drops to the dirty pavement       the hand that held it bloody, shot-through.

Soon the cars and soon the sirens;       dark-haired Sherlock's texts were rapid!  
Lestrade, the silver fox, and Sally,       clever Sally, loyal sergeant,  
shout at Sherlock for his folly,       pretending not to see the bullet.

Sherlock hails a cab to take them       across their London, greatest city  
back to Baker Street, their home.       In the flat where these two men live:  
dark-haired Sherlock, wise detective       fair-haired, stalwart John, the soldier;  
soon they settle, and John Watson       questions now the dark-haired genius.

One thing he does not understand.       This the crux of his confusion:  
the man who threatened Sherlock's life       was bald, as Sherlock said he would be;  
he had tattoos on both his arms,       this too Sherlock had predicted;  
from the clues he had deduced,       Sherlock Holmes, the wise detective,  
that the man wore steel-toed boots;       but, says John, the loyal blogger,  
fair-haired John, less tall than Sherlock,       it seems that Sherlock, wise detective,  
dark-haired Sherlock, called the genius,       —in all of London, greatest city  
there was no intellect to match him!—       and yet, when he had solved a stabbing  
it seems that he had not predicted      the man might have another knife!

Sherlock Holmes, the wise detective,       snapping up his chin, and frowning  
like a proud, offended peacock,       makes as if to leave the room.  
Fair-haired John begins to giggle       catches Sherlock by the arm.  
Sherlock Holmes, dark-haired detective       cannot stop the smile that answers.

His gaze —his eyes are many colors!—       fixes downward on the mouth  
of loyal John, less tall than Sherlock.       Both men are still, both men are smiling  
in their flat in Baker Street.       The dark-haired genius, tall detective  
kisses John, the fair-haired soldier.       The case is done, the night before them.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Aren't you glad I waited until now to note that you can sing this to the tune of Ode to Joy? Or Clementine? How about the Oompa Loompa song?


End file.
